Still Here
by HotaruGFC
Summary: Let's face it, Seto Kaiba has had a really difficult childhood, and difficult childhoods lead to broken people. Broken people often think of things that whole people do not.
1. Chapter 1

Its weight was heavy, but comfortable in my hand; so different from my usual weapon of choice. It was cold too, whereas the paper was warm. Holding it made my fingers itch. I curled my fingers around the grip; my thumb flicking the safety off and on. I wasn't stupid enough to have it loaded, but doing so would take no time. Or had I already and only forgotten?

 _Failure is as good as death._

The words he had said so many times, now internalized, reverberated within my mind. I could not deny that I had failed. I had failed so many times. And Failure was death.

I flicked the safety off as I stared out the window. The glass had been replaced years ago, but it was where he had chosen death over failure when I had bested him. Now I was the failure.

I pressed the barrel into the bottom of my jaw. I had tested so many other places: the side of my head, between my teeth, and more. This one felt… right. The feel of the cold metal thrilled me. My heart raced and my gut did somersaults. One might say it was orgasmic. My eyes slid shut giving me a preview of oblivion.

 _Failure is as good as death._

I took a deep breath, sighing on the exhale; feeling the weight in my arm, the texture of the grip in my fingers, the pressure of the barrel against my skin. I breathed again, noticing for the first time the warm wetness sliding down my cheeks.

"Bang" I whispered.

In my mind's eye, I could see the bullet igniting and accelerating. I could feel it breaking the skin, shattering my jaw as it passed upward into my skull, through my brain and outward. It would probably embed itself into the ceiling somewhere, but that did not concern me. I wondered how long I would hold onto consciousness, how long it would take for my body to go slack and for it to hit the floor. I wondered who would find me.

I breathed again.

The door behind me opened. At the sound I quickly, but carefully, returned the gun to the desk drawer and closed it.

"Happy Birthday, Seto!" Mokuba called as he entered the room, smiling. He was always smiling. I turned to him, wiping the tears from my cheeks as I did so.

"Thank you, Mokuba." I tried to smile back, but I am sure I was not convincing. He looked at me for a long moment after he handed me a small cake. He had made it himself, I knew. He always made it himself, at least once he learned how to bake, and he convinced the chef to let him use the kitchen. It was simple, but it reminded me of better days—days he barely remembers, but that have been etched on my soul, no matter how much the world has tried to buff them away.

"Seto, are you alright?" His voice was far too young to be filled with such concern. I tried harder to smile.

"I'm fine, Mokuba. I… allergies." I waved at my red-rimmed eyes dismissively

His brows knitted together skeptically.

"If you say so…"

I placed the small cake on the desk and pulled him close, burying my face into his small head.

 _Failure is as good as death._

The voice echoed in my skull once more, but Mokuba's laughter and smile silenced it—if only for a moment. I have not failed. I have done what I had promised at our parent's graveside. I have protected him. I may have had to endure the "love" of our adoptive father; I may have had to grow up too fast. But I have kept him safe. I have helped him grow strong.

I lifted my eyes from his black hair and looked at the drawer once more, visualizing the weapon lying there, waiting. I could feel it beckon to me as the dark tendrils of doubt threatened to wrap themselves around me once more.

"Let's cut the cake, Seto." Mokuba pulled from my embrace and tugged on my hand, drowning out the darkness's siren's call.

 _Not today._ I thought, allowing myself to be pulled from the grasping inner demons.

Mokuba sliced through the center of the small circular dessert and handed me half with a wicked grin. The cake was blue with white icing. I could not help but laugh.

And it was delicious.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So this is now a collection of vignettes about Seto dealing with things... Here we are post episode 1.

* * *

He stood there, catatonic, feeling the world imploding. He had lost. He never lost, but somehow, he had. And the little pointy haired freak had done… something to him. He could hear voices—familiar voices, but he could not place them. It was like some one was calling to him while he was underwater, all muffled and distorted.

He had lost.

And losing meant death.

He felt a crushing weight slam into him, shattering him, and then he felt nothing. He could not feel his body, or the air from the vent blowing against his skin. He did not feel the pressure of the hands that touched him, moved him and helped him down from the tower, but he could feel a vague sense of motion as it happened. He could not feel being helped into the limousine that brought him home, nor could he feel it when he was hustled into the house, to his room and into bed. The distant, underwater voices were back, talking, but about what he could not hear. Light shined in his eyes, but he could not blink. He only had the ability to process one thought—that he had lost.

That he had failed.

And failure meant death.

And he welcomed the darkness when it came.

* * *

But the darkness did not last. It was not the darkness of death that he had hoped for, but rather sleep. When he woke, he ached. His entire body was stiff and sore, but his heart, his mind hurt so much more. He forced himself to sit up despite the pain. He was confused when he noticed the needle in his arm and the IV to which it was connected. His eyes were drawn to his arm once more by the tiny scars that ran its length. They were hair thin reminders of other pains, but none of them had hurt as much as it did now. Now he felt as if his entire being were a shattered window. He stood at the center of the shards feeling stripped, bare, raw. He had no idea if or how he might be able to put things back together. But he knew enough about things breaking to know that even if he managed the impossible, things would never be the same.

The door opened and a nurse entered.

"Oh, Mr. Kaiba, you're awake!" she said before hurrying out the door once more. He tried to stop her, but his voice would not cooperate. It was then that he noticed how parched he was. He looked back at the scars, remembering how each one was tied to a time the Gozaburo had tried to break him. The pain then had been a release—for all his pain, his frustration. Each one was a mark that helped him to bide his time, that helped him enact his plan. He slipped the arm under the blanket as the door opened once more. The nurse had returned, with water that he was grateful to drink, as well as the doctor that served the family for longer than he could recall. Mokuba peeked around the door as they entered. He only caught a glimpse of his brother before the doctor's form blocked his view, but he could see the worry in the young boy's eyes.

"Seto." The doctor started. The older gentleman was one of the very few people who called him that. To everyone else, he was Mr. Kaiba. "You've been asleep for a week." He felt his eyes grow wide at the statement. He wanted to protest, but still could not find his voice. "Drink, son. Your body needs it." He sipped on the straw offered by the nurse.

"A… A week?" he croaked eventually. The doctor nodded.

"You need to turn down the setting on your duel arenas." The doctor stated plainly.

"Why? What do you mean?" he asked after taking another sip. He had always appreciated the doctor's no nonsense manner, which is why he had kept him on retainer after Gozaburo's suicide.

"Well, it's the only thing I can find that could have possibly put you in this state. Poor Mokuba had to help you get down and walk you to the car. From what he said, you were not able to help him. You were just… gone, as he said. I can only speculate that some type of feedback from the holo-tactile system overloaded your brain."

He was sure that the doctor was wrong. There was nothing wrong with the system, he thought. The system is perfect.

The light that emanated from his opponent flashed through his mind and the strange symbol that glowed on his forehead seemed to drill right through him once more. No, he though. It was not the system, but what it was, he could not explain. He did not even know if he believed it himself.

Instead of trying to explain, he simply nodded.

"I'll check it out." He said, his voice slowly returning to normal. His stomach rumbled as he was made aware of the void within him.

"I'll have something brought up." The doctor said, a small smile on his lips as he signaled the nurse. She closed the door behind her as she left. The doctor walked around to the other side of the bed and pulled the arm with the IV needle out from under the blanket.

"Want to tell me about these?" He asked.

"They're nothing. I haven't… in a while."

The doctor sighed, seeming dissatisfied with his answer.

"Seto, I know we've talked about this before, but I really want you to consider seeing a therapist. Losing your parents so young, and… all of this responsibility now… It can take a toll."

"I don't need to talk about my problems. I need to solve them. Just… make sure I have my scripts." He knew there was more that the doctor wanted to say, more about what Gozaburo had done to him, but he did not want to talk about it. As much as he hated his adoptive father, he did have some small respect for the man and was grateful for the opportunities he had received, even if the receiving was torture.

"Seto." The doctor frowned. He fixed the doctor with a look that would have made a weaker man wither. He needed to say nothing, and the doctor understood that the conversation was over. He could tell that the old man was not happy with him, but he did not care. He had far too much to deal with, far too many pieces to pick up. The nurse returned then with a tray upon which sat a bowl of soup. He made a face when he saw it.

"Your stomach has been empty for a week. You can't rush it." The doctor told him. He sighed. "Afterward, we'll get you off the tubes." He looked at the clear plastic tubing that ran from the inside of his elbow and up to the bag hanging next to the bed and frowned, realizing that they had to have put a catheter in as well.

"Fine." He said as the nurse brought him the bowl.

"Be careful; it's hot." She said as she tried to fed him. He glared at her before taking the bowl himself. I might have been in a coma for a week, he thought, but I will be damned if I let someone feed me like an invalid.

"Mokuba's been anxious to see you." The doctor said. "He's been here every day, waiting for you to wake up."

He sipped on his soup. He felt his heart clinch a bit at the mention of his brother. It felt as if something were snapping into place, and there was one less shard to deal with. He sipped the soup once more as the doctor sent the nurse to let in the younger Kaiba.

"Big Brother!" Mokuba said excitedly as he bounded toward the bed.

"Mokuba, Seto still needs to rest, so calm down please." The doctor told him as he reached the bed.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry." But Mokuba could not contain his exuberance for long. He threw his arms around his brother and snuggled his head against his shoulder.

"I was so worried." Mokuba whispered. Another piece snapped into place as he wrapped one arm around the younger boy. He rubbed his cheek against the top of his head.

"I'll be alright, Mokuba. I promise."

"Mokuba, Seto needs to eat." The doctor ordered. Mokuba reluctantly pulled away from him, but he sat on the bed and proceeded to tell him everything that had happened since he had been asleep.

* * *

Once they had removed the equipment from him and Mokuba had helped him to his own room, Seto walked stiffly and slowly to the dresser that sat along one wall. He looked at himself in the mirror as he leaned against the low wooden chest. His cheeks looked sunken and his skin was pale, but his eyes looked far more clear, more blue than he remembered them. He looked sick, but he had been assured that he would get back to his normal self quickly. Only his eyes seemed… well, as if a veil had been lifted from them.

"Loser." He said to himself, feeling the sting of the word in his heart. "Worthless." He looked at a photo he kept of Gozaburo to remind him every day that he had not been broken. He stood up straighter and looked himself in the eyes once more.

"No." He said. "I am not. I will not let this stop me." He looked back at the photo and picked up the small frame. He harumphed at his adoptive father before hurling it across the room. The frame broke and the glass shattered, reminding him of how broken his soul felt. He looked back at the image of himself in the mirror.

"I will not let him conquer me—not Gozaburo, not Yugi. I will never let anyone conquer me."

He felt stronger by a fraction, but the shards of his soul still lay scattered about. It still hurt so much more than anything Gozaburo had done to him, or that he had done to himself. For the first time since his parents had died, he was confused and did not know where to turn. He looked again at the scars on his arms. They were tiny and mostly faded, but he felt the urge to add to them for the first time in over a year. He looked at the bottles on the dresser top. He grabbed the closest to him. Gozaburo had first made him take it when he was not able to focus long enough or study hard enough. It was supposed to help kids with attention problems, but he did not have those. The doctor had not wanted to give it to him, he remembered, but Gozaburo had forced him.

Seto opened the bottle. He was supposed to only take one. He took two instead. He was a week behind in work; he felt he needed to catch up. He knew he shouldn't; the doctor said it could kill him. But with every breath, with every heartbeat, he felt the sting of the sharp edges of his soul cutting into him. As the drug took over, the pain lessened, or at least was easier to ignore. He turned on his computer and got to work. He could deal with the shaking and twitching in his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

He did not know what Pegasus had done, or how, but Mokuba was gone. When he looked into his younger brother's eyes, he saw nothing of the goofy, lovable kid that he knew, he saw only a void where his rock had once stood. And once again, he felt himself break. The pieces he had slowly been putting back together after his duel with Yugi shattered once more. Pegasus' voice sounded distant as he gave him an ultimatum: Defeat Yugi, defeat Pegasus, and Mokuba would be restored. He knew what he had to do. Pegasus could have Kaiba Corporation for all he cared; he needed Mokuba back. He took the five star chips as he glared at Pegasus. He could not imagine how he had almost thought of the man as a friend. Gozaburo's lessons struck home once more—don't ever trust anyone, especially those who are friendly to you.

He stormed out of the castle, raging. He would defeat Yugi, no matter what. He would not lose again. Failure meant death, and he had already lost so much.

He stood at the gate, waiting, formulating a plan. He noticed the tower that rose high above the castle, and even higher above the ground as it sat at the edge of the cliff upon which the entire building was situated. He smirked to himself, realizing the poetic justice that would be served should he lose the battle there. He decided that it would be the perfect spot. He hoped it would not come to pass; he, of course, was expecting to win by his strength alone, but he had a contingency plan should he, for some reason, fail to do as he had expected.

He did not have to wait long for Yugi and his band of followers to show up. He stood there, blocking their way, trying to exude as much confidence as he could, but his heart was pounding nervously. He must succeed in this. It was do or die, literally. He could feel the cold fingers of death creeping into his mind as he posed the challenge to Yugi. He had nothing left to lose, and Yugi seemed to understand that. As they looked at each other, he could see the same desperation in Yugi's eyes that he felt deep within his being.

The wind was fierce up on top of the tower as they stood face to face. He felt that even though this duel was being played with cards, it held far more in common with a gunfight. As they prepared the killing field and loaded the Duel Disks, he watched his opponent. The desperation was still there in the smaller boy, but there was determination too, something that he wished he could feel. He had always had a good poker face, so he knew the others could not tell, but he was more scared now than at any other time in his short life.

For every attack he made, Yugi had a counterattack, but the reverse was also true. For a moment, he lost himself in the dance and found simple joy in the act of facing a worthy opponent. He had long ago forgotten the fun of the game, and he wondered, briefly, he and Yugi would have been able to enjoy the game together, had things been different. But it did not take long for reality to once again rear its head and remind him of that for which he had to fight.

In an instant, the tide had turned and he was failing. His strongest monster was falling prey to his opponent and he did not know what to do. The desperation within expanded, consuming him. He saw his brother's face from within the hologram, pleading with him, reaching for him, but he could not move. The part of himself that held on to Mokuba so tightly—the scared little orphan for whom Mokuba was his whole world, fought to reach him, but it was too late. Mokuba had been swallowed whole by the darkness that also ate away at his dragon. His younger, more innocent self turned on him then, his eyes accusing him and his words stung like arrows. He could not win. There was nothing he could do to save Mokuba now. He took a deep breath and held tightly to the locket he wore around his neck. He looked at the stones at his feet, steeling his resolve so that he could follow through with his contingency plan. He no longer hid the desperation in his eyes as he looked at his opponent. Yugi was ready to win at all costs.

"If each of these blocks is one hundred life points," he said, stepping backward. "Then I will walk toward the edge for each hundred lost." He felt a little vindicated as Yugi's eyes grew wide. The boy was quick, he admitted. He would hate to have their rivalry end so soon. He climbed up onto the block that edged the tower. "One more attack, Yugi. And it will all be over." He looked over his shoulder at the drop that awaited him. He felt his heart racing but also felt a sense of peace. If he could not win, if he could not even save his brother, what right did he have living? He wondered if Gozaburo had thought the same thing before he threw himself from the window of his office.

"Do it, Yugi. Attack." He goaded, praying for the end. The only way he could win now was if Yugi surrendered. But Yugi is too proud of a duelist to let anything distract him from victory, he thought. He could see the determination in his opponents eyes and knew that the end would be coming soon. He welcomed oblivion, but wondered just how much it would hurt as his body was broken on the forest floor below.

He braced himself for the attack, but it never came. He watched in amazement as Yugi collapsed to his knees weeping. It took him a second to process the scene before he could call an attack and end the match. He had won. He should have been elated, as beating Yugi had occupied his thought for so long. But there was nothing about this victory that appealed to him. He had forced his opponent's hand and there was nothing to be proud of in his actions. He looked down at the forest below him once more, wondering if he should just jump anyway, but the sound of Mokuba's voice echoed in his mind. He might not be able to succeed in his goal, but he had to try. He hopped down from the ledge and took the wagered star chips before turning to the castle.

The girl began yelling at him, saying something about throwing his life away. She did not understand, he thought. His life had already been taken from him, and if he could not get it back, then what remained meant nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Seto expelled a breath as the helicopter settled on the pad. The landing jolted the occupants awake, despite being his best landings yet. He collapsed against the instruments once the rotors had stopped and the passengers disembarked. He was drained.

The flight had not been difficult, he mused, rather the company was torture. His dark mood soured as he stepped on solid ground. He had work to do, but he wanted sleep.

Don't be lazy, stupid boy, Gozaburo's voice haunted his memory as his strode to the elevator. He shook the thought away.

The elevator was peaceful, but the silence set his mind racing. Ideas kept popping up in the fertile soil of his thoughts. While he was disappointed Pegasus had scoffed at his new invention, the other two tests pleased him. The duel disk's technology worked as he had designed, but his confidence was no substitute for hard evidence. The portable holoprojectors performed adequately, but improvements were possible.

Some aspects of the duel disk troubled him. The throwing disk was heavy, and the action was awkward. The disk had difficulty projecting multiple monsters, unlike the duel arena. He would have to address these concerns before he could manufacture and sell the device.

The elevator doors opened. Seto lurched from the wall and his train of thought.

"Seto, we should go on vacation." The younger Kaiba commanded, stopping Seto in his tracks.

"Mokuba, I have work to do."

"You can work at the beach house." Mokuba replied. Seto rubbed his eyes.

"I hate the beach."

"You hate everything." The preteen pointed out. The kid did have a point.

"Besides," Mokuba continued. "We haven't had a vacation since…"

Mokuba trailed off, his eyes growing wide. The last time they had taken a vacation was before the coup for Kaiba Corporation. Before Gozaburo committed suicide.

A dark cloud covered Seto's face. He could not shake the thoughts from his mind. Much had changed, and he had prioritized rebuilding the company. His brother, patient and supportive, had suffered alone. Seto owed Mokuba. He inhaled and exhaled the way the doctor had insisted.

"Fine, Mokuba. We'll go to the beach house for a couple of days. You can go play, but I've still got work to do on the duel disk system."

The grin that erupted on Mokuba's face was priceless and infectious. Seto felt a small smile creep over his own lips at seeing his greatest treasure so happy. Smiling felt weird, like his face had grown unaccustomed to the act.

* * *

His office was dark and silent, like a tomb. Even the usual glow and hum of his computer was absent, as he had been the last several days. Seto found it disconcerting. Someone must have tried to break into his personal files and gotten blocked by the extra security he had implemented. Restarting the computer, he reflected on the events that had led to this moment—about the kidnapping and attempted murder, the duels and his defeat. Pegasus could not have orchestrated it all on his own. Someone likely helped him, someone with intimate knowledge of Kaiba Corporation. Seto muttered a curse under his breath. He had a traitor in his midst.

The computer chimed, alerting Seto, who began the lengthy process of unlocking the machine properly. It would not function if everything was not done exactly, and only he and Mokuba knew the entire process. Mokuba had laughed at him and called him paranoid when he had set up the security additions. Perhaps he was right, but scanning the files showed the prudence of Seto's actions. The break-in attempt had not been successful. Seto could find no evidence that anything had been copied or altered. He sighed in relief. He had so many plans and ideas stored in the network which were revolutionary and would change everything. He could not bear for them to be stolen.

Despite the traitor's lack of success, Seto was bothered that it had happened at all. Had morale gotten bad enough to make people turn against him? It was true that he had broken some promises to those who had helped him ascend to his position, but were they upset enough to sell him and Mokuba out to Pegasus? He would have to handle the situation soon, but later. He could not break another promise to Mokuba.

Satisfied with his security measures, Seto worked to secure the rest of the company. Seto scoured the markets for any shares of Kaiba Corporation. They were not difficult to find. It seemed as if Pegasus had triggered an automatic sell off should he fail in his attempt. Seto bought every one he could. He would not risk anyone wresting control from him again. He no longer knew who he could trust, nor could he risk idleness. He was nearly finished when the door creaked open.

He had been meaning to fix the creak, but now was grateful for the warning. He looked over the monitor at the intruder in the doorway, perfectly illuminated by the later afternoon sun. The intruder had clearly not noticed him. Seto watched the intruder as he—and Seto was certain it was a 'he'—moved furtively toward the desk. When he was about halfway through the room, Seto stood, the sunlight streaming around him cast a long shadow over the intruder.

"What are you doing?" Seto asked, his voice deep and commanding. The intruder froze. Seto could see more clearly now that the intruder was closer. He was not anyone that Seto had expected. He was a peon, a lackey likely sent by one of the masterminds behind the takeover.

"Sir, I…" the other man's voice squeaked with fear at being caught. "They said you were dead." The fear was quickly replaced by awe. A smirk fell comfortably onto Seto's lips.

"Rumors of my death are just that. Rumors. Mokuba and I are both quite alive and well." Seto's eyes narrowed and fixed the intruder with a dagger-like stare. "Now, why are you here?"

Seto could see the other man gulp and his eyes dart around the room, searching for a way out.

"I, uh, I must have gotten the wrong room." He said finally as he backed toward the door. Seto harumphed as the door closed behind him. Seto fought the urge to chase after the man, to unravel the situation. He had a promise to keep.

* * *

The drive to the beach house had been pleasant and Seto had used the time to formulate plans for the new duel disk. He was grateful to Mokuba for the suggestion of the trip. He planned to utilize the relative solitude to the fullest extent of his ability. He and Mokuba had gone their separate ways as soon as they got to the house. Mokuba took off to the beach after securing a promise from Seto that he would not work the entire time. Seto made his way down to the basement he had converted into a workshop during their last visit with Gozaburo. The smell of grease lingered in the air and mixed with the dust that had settled over the tools. He ran his hand over the smooth work surface, wiping it clean and dusting his hand off against his pants. He scanned the tools that he had hung so neatly years before. A sense of calm and focus settled over him as he inventoried the materials available. The shop was smaller than the one he had at his home or at the office, but they all gave him the same sense of refuge. He pulled the sheet from over the outdated computer and booted it up. He vowed to make some improvements to it if he had time as it slowly came back to life. But for now, it would serve his purpose. Seto pulled out a large sheet of plastic from a storage shelf underneath the workbench and began sketching out the pieces he would have to cut for the card blade. He meticulously sliced the plastic with a razor into the desired shapes, stacking them neatly as he finished. He was cautious to use every scrap he could, not because he needed to, but because he hated wasting. Music was playing softly from the computer—a mixture of mostly 80s college rock, post-punk and new wave. He lost track of time as he worked. It was not until some modern pop trash left the speakers that he even looked up from the pieces he was trying to assemble. He stared angrily at the computer before sighing.

"Mokuba." He muttered as he hurried up the steps, barely missing an overhanging pipe. He found Mokuba in the kitchen with sand covering his feet.

"You're going to have to sweep that up." Seto said, leaning in the doorway. Mokuba turned to him with a spoon hanging out of his mouth.

"What?"

"The sand."

"Oh." Mokuba looked at the track of footprints that had followed him inside.

"Did you mess with my playlist?" Seto asked. Mokuba froze like a deer in headlights.

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"I lost my phone?" Mokuba shrank back into himself.

Seto sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Why didn't you call it with mine?"

"I did? It was on silent?" Even though he was making statements, Mokuba's guilt made his responses sound like questions. "Because of school."

Seto joined Mokuba at the table. He ran his hands through his hair and interlocked his fingers behind his neck.

"Please don't do it again. It wouldn't be so bad if you actually listened to good music."

"Look whose talking, Mr. I-don't-listen-to-anything-from-this-century…" Mokuba muttered, taking another bite of ice cream.

Seto watched him eating for a moment before going to the freezer to fix himself a bowl. The cold desert chilled his core as he ate, savoring the mixture of flavors—sweet cream and caramel with a touch of chocolate.

"You should come to the beach with me. We could build a sand castle like we..." Mokuba said before spooning his last bite into his mouth.

"I've got to finish something first. Maybe we can go later? After dinner?"

"It will be dark then."

"I prefer the beach at night."

"But we can't build anything." Mokuba frowned. He was right. Seto took another bite.

"Tomorrow then. First thing."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Mokuba smiled, satisfied. After placing his bowl in the sink, he found the broom and swept up the sand he had tracked in.

"Are you going back out?" Seto asked as he finished up his treat.

"Nah. It's really hot. I think I'll read, or take a nap, or something."

Seto nodded in agreement. It was refreshing to not have to worry about anything for a moment, however brief. He envied Mokuba's lack of worry.

"Well, I'm going back downstairs." He said, cleaning up his mess.

* * *

Once he got into his groove, Seto lost track of time. He rarely had an opportunity to get lost in his design and invention since he had taken over the company. He found himself smiling as he pieced together the prototype of the duel disk version two. Version one had been constructed with a specific goal in mind and on a strict deadline. He had not been able to enjoy its creation as much as he was not relishing in the formation of its successor. At least until he sliced his hand open with an x-acto knife. He had been using the small blade to shave down edges of pieces so they would better fit, but the knife slipped and cut cleanly into his left hand. It clattered on the floor as Seto watched blood pooling into the slice in his palm. The pain felt good, real and he stared fascinated at the growing streak of red as it slid down his palm and dropped to the floor. He watched for a long moment before remembering that he should put pressure on the cut to stop the bleeding. Pressing down hard with his right thumb, he focused on the pain in his hand and watched the blood drip from his wrist.

All of his dark thoughts and guilt and disappointment over the events leading up to the tournament flowed out of him as the blood ran. His anger at himself over his loss to Yugi and then to Pegasus fell in drips to the floor. His shame at not being able to help his brother and nearly losing his company splattered in red circles along the tile. It was not completely erased, but the pain in his heart was eased.

He took the thumb from the cut, as the bleeding had slowed. But when the pressure was removed, the slice filled once again with bright red blood and it would not stop. He looked more closely at the cut. It was small, but was much deeper than he had initially thought. He clamped his thumb over it once more and hurried upstairs.

"Mokuba?" Seto called out, his voice on the edge of panic. "Mokuba!" He recognized his brother's head bobbing on the patio through a window. He called out again as he tried to open the door. He gave up and knocked on the window instead. When Mokuba turned to him, Seto waved him inside.

"What?" the younger boy asked, annoyed.

"Get the first aid kit." Seto said as he pulled his thumb away from the wound once more. It was still bleeding more than he liked. Mokuba rushed to get the kit stored in the bathroom. Seto's hands had started to throb from the pressure and his fingers had started to tremble when Mokuba moved his thumb away from the palm.

"Yikes. What did you do?" the younger boy asked examining the wound.

"Knife slipped as I was trimming up some things."

"It's deep."

"I know." Seto's breath came raggedly.

"You might need stitches." Mokuba said as he cleaned and wrapped the wound. "I'm going to call the doctor."

"No."

"Seto." Mokuba fixed him with a defiant stare. "If it gets infected or if it doesn't stop bleeding, I'm going to call the doctor."

Seto looked away with a huff as he tried to move his fingers.

"Don't move it! I swear, I should just wrap your whole hand up like a club so you can't screw the healing process."

Seto grunted in frustration. With one hand out of commission, he was unlikely to finish the work he had started.

Seto stomped down the stairs to the basement to clean up his mess. He started with the drips on the floor and then moved to the table. He collected the pieces he had been working on when the injury had occurred and took them to the sink and washed them. He picked up the knife. Its edge was speckled with brown. He stormed across the room to the sink again. A cloud of powerlessness gnawed at his spirit. He was now powerless to complete the work he had set out for himself. He had been powerless to protect Mokuba and his company from attack. He was powerless against Yugi. He was powerless against Pegasus. He had been powerless for so long after he had been adopted, and before then he had been powerless in the face of his parents' deaths. Despite his hatred of the feeling, Seto could not seem to break away from it's oppression.

He ran the blade under water, wiping away the dried blood. His adoptive father's voice echoed in his mind, berating him for never being good enough. His words before he had fallen to his death, the equation that failure was death, settled onto Seto's heart. He took the blade in his good hand and pressed the point against his wrist. The pressure was light, but the pain it caused was sharp and chilling. Seto knew that it would not take much effort to pierce the skin. The effort to open the artery there would be only a little more. He pressed just a little bit harder as he chewed on his lip. He looked into the small mirror above the sink as the song in the background changed. The positivity of the lyrics was overly saccharine, but the message was impactive. He met the gaze of the scared boy staring back at him from the mirror—the one who had to endure so much suffering.

"I am not Gozaburo." He told himself, tossing the knife aside. He slid to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest, rocking and sobbing through the pain.

* * *

He emerged some time later. Mokuba was engrossed in his hand-held game, oblivious to the world around him. The sky had grown dark, but the last rays of sunset were still visible on the horizon. Seto felt the sudden need to get outside.

The air was still warm on his face. The humidity was thick and sultry. He almost went back inside when confronted with its oppressive weight, but the need to see the sky was too great. He began the long climb from the top of the bluff upon which the house sat. The beach below was supposed to be private, but people found a way around the rules. Usually it was only the neighbors that had strayed too far from their own property, but occasionally there would be the random trespasser. Tonight the beach was empty. Seto sat on the small bench at the bottom of the stairs and took off his shoes. He rolled up his long pants to around the middle of his calf. It was a perfect day for shorts if he owned any. The sticky air made him wish for a t-shirt as well—yet another article lacking from his wardrobe. He tried to find some relief by rolling up his sleeves. The sand felt cool against his feet, offering a welcome change from the heat. He wiggled his toes in it before walking to the water's edge. The tide was out, and it seemed as if the beach stretched out for miles. Tide pools glittered in the pale moonlight as they gave haven to the tiny creatures that had been trapped there to wait for the sea to return. The wet sand squished beneath his feet bringing back memories.

He hated the beach, but it was not always so. As he walked along the wet sand and the surf lapped gently at his ankles, Seto remembered a time when he had loved the beach. Mokuba was far too young to remember the times their parents had taken them, but Seto remembered, barely. He had slowly lost the images of the faces of his mother and father, but he remembered them smiling. He remembered building sandcastles with his father and exploring the tidal pools for crabs and seashells with his mother. He remembered being happy. Even after his mother had died trying to bring their sister into the world, the beach had been a refuge for him and his father, a place to remember the happy times they had all had when their family had been complete. The accident had changed everything.

When Gozaburo had brought them to the beach, Seto had been forced to maintain his rigorous schedule with his tutors. And when he was not studying, he was forced to attend functions with his adoptive father, which meant fancy clothes and suits. Such attire was tolerable under normal circumstances, but Seto hated having to wear it at the beach. Mokuba never had such restrictions placed upon him, no matter where they were. He had always been free. Seto had never once had a free day to spend playing with Mokuba on the few times they had come here with Gozaburo. He had never been able to build a sand castle with his little brother, or bury him near the surf. His regret was one more thing to blame on Gozaburo.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow, I start making up for lost time. He dragged his feet through the water pooling around his ankles, feeling the tug of the surf flowing outward sucking the sand out from around his feet as the wave receded. He dug his toes into the sand in an effort to provide some sense of stability as the water pulled the ground away from beneath him. Eventually, he yanked his feet free from their sandy prison and walked further up the beach before sitting in the soft sand well above the high tide mark. He drew his long legs into his chest and wrapped his arms around his chin on his knees. The waves glittered in the moonlight and the sky was filled with stars. When he grew uncomfortable with being drawn into a ball, Seto stretched his entire length across the sand. The velvet dark night was littered with pinpricks of light. It reminded him of looking down into the city below his office at the top of the building Gozaburo had built to tower over everything. In the city, each light was the life of one of the millions of people who lived there, but out here, he wondered what each little light in the sky was hiding. As he looked up and watched thin clouds passing through the night, obscuring the occasional constellation, the names of the star groupings came back to him in a rush. The mental catalog of names surprised him as they flooded his mind. He had paid no attention to the stars since he had been adopted, but memories hit him along with the names. His father had taught them to him when he was little, but he thought Gozaburo had driven all such memories from him. As he whispered the names of the stars, his voice seemed to morph into his father's gentle instructions.

"And that one, Seto, is called Orion." His father had told him, his breath curling in the cold air. They sat atop the tall apartment building where they lived in the middle of the night. They were wrapped in a blanket together, each holding a tin mug of hot cocoa. A telescope was set up in front of them, but for now they were just watching the stars.

"It's one of the easiest to find, because of the belt and sword." Seto snuggled against his father's side as he used a long finger to trace out the features of the constellation. "But if you look carefully, you can see that the hunter also has a bow." Seto's eyes followed the long finger as it traced out the shapes.

"Orion." He said quietly. His father had brought him up to the roof to see the lunar eclipse, but the main event had not yet started. They had not had much time to spend together recently, not since Mokuba and Mom had come home from the hospital a few months ago. Everyone had been so busy with the new baby that Seto had begun feeling abandoned and lonely. He had thought that everyone had forgotten about him when his father woke him well past bedtime with a mischievous smile on his lips. Seto helped him lug the old telescope up to the roof the best he could, but his small body was too weak to carry much more than the thermos and a blanket. The roof was cold—much colder than their warm apartment or his warm bed, but his father had promised him something amazing as he wrapped young Seto in the blanket and set up the telescope. The moon was full and bright. It obscured all but the brightest constellations that night, but his father patiently traced out every visible one for his young son. And then the shadow of the Earth began to pass over the moon turning it a blood red and Seto was entranced. They sat in silence wrapped up together and passing the telescope's eyepiece between them, as the moon darkened and then grew bright once more. The view astounded his six year old mind.

"We are building rockets to try and get there, Seto." His father said, his voice quiet, awe-struck, yet strong and deep. Seto knew little about his father's work aside from the fact that he was an engineer. "No one has gone there since the Americans. I want to see people living there in my lifetime." His father continued. "Maybe one day, you and your brother will call it home."

But the accident had changed everything.

Looking up at the stars now, Seto felt the pull of them. He wanted to go there, to fulfill his father's dream. He now had the means to make it happen and he began planning the ways when a woman's laughter nearby interrupted him. He sat up and turned toward the sound. Voices floated across the sand to him.

A couple walked through the moonlight at the water's edge, oblivious to Seto's presence. The young man stepped in front of the woman he had heard earlier and brought her fingers to his lips. She looked away from him, shyly, but he pulled her body against his and captured her lips in a kiss. From his vantage point in the darkness, it looked to Seto as if the pair had melded into one being as the woman's arms wrapped around her lover and slid up his back. Seto found himself blushing as he watched them, but he could not look away. He was sure that they thought the beach had been abandoned since the sun had set. His gut clenched as he watched them. Was it guilt? Or something else? He could not tell, but it was not a feeling to which he was accustomed.

The young woman giggled again as the pair separated once again into two people before continuing along the water's edge. Seto watched them as they disappeared into the night once more. He pulled himself back into a ball trying to categorize what he was feeling into one of the many boxes he had created for his emotions over the years. The feeling defied definition. He turned his head to where the couple had disappeared. The water met the bluff in a shadow against the night sky. The beach was a usually narrow ribbon that stretched along the rocky wall, widened now by the low tide. Seto wiped water from his cheek. He told himself that it was sea spray, but the water was too distant and too gentle. The feeling he could not identify nagged at him, and he realized that it had been nagging at him since his rooftop duel with Yugi. He had not noticed before because he had been able to distract himself from the feeling. He still could not, or refused to, name the emotion when he finally decided to stand and return to the house.

Mokuba had gone to bed by the time Seto got back into the house. Seto chided himself for tracking in so much sand as he stripped down and cleaned up the mess. He looked at his bandaged hand, debating if he should check on the wound. He did not know if he would be able to wrap it back up if he took a peek. It had stopped bleeding but it ached dully. He took some acetaminophen to ease the pain before he went to his room upstairs. He quickly slipped into pajamas, but he found himself staring blankly at the ceiling. His body was weary and his mind was tired, but his heart would not let him sleep. He sighed and tried to close his eyes, willing for sleep to come, but the emotions that had been stirred up within him refused to settle. He threw the blanket back and tiptoed into Mokuba's room.

His brother was fast asleep. Seto sat on the edge of the bed, watching Mokuba's chest rise and fall with each breath. He remembered the first time he had held the sleeping little baby and marveled at how Mokuba had grown. Seto slipped underneath the blanket next to him, as Mokuba had done so many times while they were at the orphanage. Mokuba snuggled next to him as if they were still that pair of lost and lonely children. And Seto realized what it was he had been feeling—the emotion he had been unable to name. He chuckled mirthlessly as he greeted his old companion, loneliness before walling it away with the other feelings he had no time for. He wrapped his brother in his arms and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
